


Visions of a Half-Sleep

by OntheMeander



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adopted Stiles Stilinski, Angst, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Secrets, First Time, Hallucinations, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Top Derek, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OntheMeander/pseuds/OntheMeander
Summary: Terrified that something dark has come to Beacon Hills, Stiles calls the only two people he knows who can handle the supernatural.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 41
Kudos: 246





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> I already have so many stories I am currently working on and yet my imagination decided to just go on a road trip. I have no real excuse for this story other than I've been on a bit of a crossover kick (been hitting the SuperGoodOmens real hard) and the next town on the road map is SuperTeenWolf central.

It should have felt like burning, at least that is what Stiles thought it would be like. Skin searing as you touch something so hot your brain lies to itself saying it's cold. Turns out being struck by lightning is nothing like that. No, being struck by lightning so much worse than that.

When burnt you can pull away, retract in pain to cradle your wounds, but when electrocuted you completely lose control. Muscles contract, backs bend nearly in half, pressing all the air out of your lungs. Creeping dread crawls across your skin as every hair stands on edge. The smell of burning hair and skin coming from within.

Stiles wants to thrash. To throw his body and curl in pain. He can’t. He had no control over what his body does. Writhing, he is forced to watch as flashing lights speed overhead, burning blue streaks behind his eyelids as he blinked. Spidering burning lines cut across the darkness, electricity makes itself known. Mother nature’s vengeful child ready to snap at any moment.

The light flickered all around him, it was like he was stuck in a bubble. Everyone was moving in slow motion but backgrounds flickering in fast forward, like characters from one movie were superimposed in another. He was a trapped observer as he and his flickering bubble travel out of his house, through the town, into the halls of the high school, straight into a closet at the back of the chemistry room.

Suddenly, with another flash, he finds himself strapped to the floor, massive leather binding holding him still. Arms pinned to his side, he stuck to the floor, his mouth held open by pinching metal. He can’t move, can’t scream, can’t do a thing.

Fear coursed through him with a sudden shock it felt like his own heart was thrown to bounce off his back ribs.

The lights go out, leaving him blind. Mouth open, he feels liquid rush down his throat. What doesn’t make its way into his body bubbles up to puddle along his face. Pooling in his eyes, clogging his nose, and soaking him. Sputtering the lights come back on and he sees hundreds of jars and bottles dropping from a void in the ceiling. They rained down onto him, glass shattering around his head as he is sprayed in a technicolor flood of strange liquids. They get into his eyes and burn. They fill his nose and reek of the decaying stench. The coat his skin in tacky humid goo.

Above him, he can hear the sounds of talking. Nothing makes sense though. Like a foreign langue coming over a distant airwave. Syllables were held for too long, becoming mush in his ears unable to make out the beginning and end of words.

The liquid stops flowing. Cracking open his eyes he sees a simple tile ceiling, the kind he spent hours staring at in school, flick pencils into the air trying to make them stick in the foam panels. With a haggard sigh, he realizes he can move his mouth. With his mouth movements, he can move his head and his arms. The bindings are gone like they never existed, to begin with. Giving a realized sob, Stiles stays laying on the floor exhausted. Closing his eyes once more, he turns his head to relieve the pressure on the back of his head from being strapped down.

The lightning flickers begin again, his body ceases in memory, and in terror, his eyes fly open. Only to stare into the cold dead stare of another.

The face before him is mutilated, carved into, eyelid missing, and frozen in her final terrifying scream. Lydia Martin’s hair was redder than Stiles ever remembered, blood from her scalp staining her strawberry blonde hair. The voices above him became louder, almost laughing at his despair. He pulls away only to stumble over another body.

It’s Derek, stuck between wolf and human. His fur completely soaked through as he lays in a massive puddle of water. Scrambling to his feet Stiles looks around him. All around him was a sea of body and waters, stretching out endlessly into a vacuous void. Scott, Allison, Dad, his deputies, the entire town's bodies are splayed and half-submerged.

With a flicker, lighting started to crackle around him and all their bodies began to dance. Convulsing in the water, their backs bent in ungodly angles. The water slapped around them and blinding sparks flashed as Stiles stood there watching. Open smoking wounds grow on them, like the burning edges of the smoldering paper, as they continue their monstrous dance.

Then, with a flicker, he is back in his bed.

Screaming his lungs out.

Sitting up, Stiles screams, and screams, his voice bouncing off the walls. He is wet and terrified, frantically trying to find where the lightning is coming from. Scrambling to break free of his constricting sheets he only manages to knot them tighter. Limbs trapped at his sides, heart panicking, he flails and tumbles to the floor, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Cough for air, Stiles frantically looks around. Slowly his vision returns, adjusting to the darkness, but shadows still dance in the corners. He is in his room, alone. The house is blessedly empty. Thankfully as well, there isn’t any water on the floor and any moisture on his brow is nothing more than sweat. Rubbing at his tired eyes he breathes deeply, trying to quell his panic attack.

It was a dream. Another horrible dream. The 10th one in as many days and they were getting worse.

Managing to grab his phone in the dark, the cracked screen flickers to light. 1:12 in the morning. He only managed to sleep for 45 minutes. Exhausted, Stiles’ head slams with a slightly sweaty thud against the hardwood floor. His eyes prickle as frustrated tears threaten to flow.

He felt like he was going crazy. He could barely sleep at night but that is all he wanted to do at day. If he managed to sleep then he was plagued by vivid dreams. Horrid half-memories of people and events mixed with sickening violence. It always ended the same. Stiles, standing over the bodies of everyone he ever knew.

They were becoming longer, more real, and harder to tell when they began and where his conscious memories end. He felt like his mind was slipping from him, like sand in a sieve. Something wasn’t right. With him. With his dreams. They always were off in a way that he never experiences before. Filled with foreign languages and words that were unreadable.

He felt like he was possessed… possessed. With sudden clarity, Stiles scrambles to his desk, pulling out the book he needs. Riffling through the pages he stops on a page titled Demons. The writing is confident and bold, speckled with strange symbols, and added information in the margins. Blank black eyes are sketched to one side amongst details of possession. Strange smells, uncontrolled movements, voices from nowhere, and blacking out were all signs. A horrible chill rattle down his spine.

Blearily, nearly blinded and stumbling in the darkness, Stiles tries to find the paper he needs. Pulling open the bedside table, he knocks around the contents till he finally gets his hands on what he needs. Pulling out a scrap of aged yellow paper, he finds the phone number he needs.

He quickly punches in the number, curling up in the corner of his bed. As the dial tone rings out, Stiles chews at a stray hangnail on his thumb. Suddenly the dialing stops and a deep voice comes through “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean, at 866-907-3235. He can help.” Stiles nearly whines realizing it's nothing but a voicemail.

Quickly he hangs up and dials in the new number. God, he hopes they will answer. He curls in tightly as we wait for the ringing to stop. It feels like a lifetime but finally, a “Hello?” in a grouchy voice answered, it was deep and raspy, dried out from snoring.

“Dean?” He asks, his voice sounds watery and weak, on the verge of tears again. He pulls into himself tighter, seeking comfort in his own arms.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, buddy?” Dean demanded none too kindly, he sounded angry and annoyed. It was a tone Stiles felt like he had never heard before. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered them.

“It’s Stiles.” The line went silent for a second then the sudden rustling of sheets could be heard as Dean sit up in bed.

“Stiles! Hey, hey..” He coughed, trying to fix the rasp in his voice, which was growing warmer. It was slowly going back to a voice that Stiles remembers all too fondly. “what’s up?”

His breath is rattled as he finally lets loose of the tension, “I… I think I need your help.” He stumbles over what to say never. What to tell Dean to convince him what’s wrong. Would Dean even believe him, ultimately all he can really say is, “Something is here in Beacon Hills.”

Like it was a starter's pistol Stiles heard the sudden and very loud signs of someone getting up and moving quickly, “Sammy, get up. We gotta go.” Stiles could hear the rustling of sheets and groggy complaining as the two men on the other end were pulling themselves out of bed. The sounds of haphazard packing, the thud of boots, and the metallic click of equipment followed shortly after. Dean came back onto the phone, voice far more awake and alert, “We’re in Montana, we can be there in 18, maybe 16 hours.” Stiles looked back at his clock. They would manage to be there before he had to sleep again. If he can just manage to stay awake everything should be fine.

“Okay, thank you.” He sounded weak to his own ears. He could only imagine how scared and small he sounded to the two men over the phone.

“Don’t worry. We will be there soon little brother.”


	2. The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of backstory on how we got here kids. I actually had so much planned I tried my best to pair it down to just the best bits. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think with a comment or kudos. P.s. Carry on my Wayward son just started playing over the work sound system so seemed like the best time to post.

“Hey Olivia, what is this garbage?” An old drunk truckdriver hollered from the corner of the bar, “Turn on the game.” Rolling her eyes, with an annoyed snort, Olivia not too gentle slammed her copy of People Weekly on the counter. Fishing out the step stole from under the bar she climbed up to adjust the channel dial, trying to drown out the obnoxious comments other patrons were making about her legs.

Finally, she could get back to her article, She had to know how the hell could that cad cheat on Diana? Hell, that two-page spread of her in an off-the-shoulder velvet dress was proof alone that he was an idiot to not know how good he had it. He was lucky he did end up like that Bobbit fellow and lost his crown jewels.

Bright light streamed through the front door as it opened, bringing into start relief the obscene amount of smoke and floor splattered in various liquids. Looking up she saw a burly-looking guy striding up to an open bar stool. He scanned the bar before his eyes landed on her. Instantly his eyes lit up and he sat up a bit straighter, broadening his shoulders. Great. Closing her magazine, Olivia walked over, whipping her hands on a damp rag, “How can I help you?”

“John”

“Over there.” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the dingy bathroom with its blown-out lightbulb and sticky floors. She expected the man to get annoyed but instead, he actually gave a small chuckle. He looked much better when he smiled, his edges rounded and became less rough.

“Name is John. Could I have a beer?” She bent over to open the mini-fridge and pull out a bottle.

“2 bucks.” She popped the cap and handed the sweating glass to him. He passed her the bills, then with a small smile and tilt of his head in thanks he down the drink. She was about to head back to her article when he started talking again.

“So, I am new in town.”

“Welcome to Beacon Hills.”

“Here for a day or two, stopping over before heading to Sacramento.”

“Driving?” He didn’t look like a truck driver, his shirt didn’t have nearly enough stains and his gut wasn’t protruding past his feet.

“Yup, it's beautiful.”

“The only way to see this state in my mind.” Olivia leaned against the bar half watching John and half watching the TV. She caught him giving her low-rise jeans and appreciative stare before going back to smiling at her face.

“I’ve driven almost everywhere in this country. There are some gorgeous views.”

“That sounds nice.” She would love to just go driving. Hope in a car and go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

“This one is probably the best?” He replied giving her his most charming smile cranked to full power. She blushed at the attention but shook her head at his ridiculousness. “Could you maybe show me around?” He asked, taking another swig of his beer. “It would be nice to have such a lovely woman show me what’s fun to do in this town.”

“There isn’t really much to do in Beacon Hills. Just the bar” she waived around him to show just truly boring this place was. “And the movie theater.”

“Movie then?” Was he asking her on a date?

“There is a new Friday the 13th movie out.”

“It’s a date.”

* * *

An exciting baby squealing accompanied Oliva as she shouldered open the door to her sisters’ house. Inside she could hear the sounds of cooking, the radio, and the toddler in the highchair excitedly waiving to her. Seeing his happy babbling brought a tired smile to her face. “Claud, I am back.” Olivia announced, dropping her bag she scooped up the little boy from his Hi chair, “Hello my little man, how are you? Have you been good for Auntie Claudia?”

“He was perfect as always Oliva.” Her older sister announced with pride, her hair was pinned back as she stirred something in a steaming pot. “You staying for dinner?” She wiggled her fingers at her giggle little boy who clapped “Mieczy would like to stay, I am sure.” Mieczyslaw blew raspberries to show that he was fully on board with the idea. His brown eyes glittered as he looked up at her, grabbing her gold hoop earrings. How could she say no to his happy little face, all red with excitement and joy?

Olivia, helped her sister finish cooking. Flitting between setting the table and playing with Mieczyslaw’s wiggly little toes. As Claudia spooned out the soup, they could hear the front door open. Mieczyslaw squealed again, waving his hands excitedly in welcome. Noah Stilinski strode in, dropping his deputy hat onto the table before bending down and planning a large wet kiss on Mieczyslaw’s head.

“Hello, Deputy Stilinski.” Olivia teased as Noah walked into the house, his new uniform looking like it was just out of the bag.

“I don’t think I will ever get used to that,” Noah said, a happy flush on his face.

Claudia's smile was full of pride, “You earned it and I am sure soon we will be calling you Sheriff.”

“Why? You two have a plan to take out the current one.” Mieczyslaw giggled in agreement, waving his arms like he was saying ‘yes and it’s the most amazing plan ever with explosions and backflips and cool music.’

“How is everything at the station?”

“Same old same old. The sheriff is starting to think those disappearances might be related.”

“Oh, dear.” Claudia sounded concerned but never dropped her smile as she gave Mieczyslaw another spoonful of his peas.

“Boyfriends have similar stories. Apparently, both women were talking about hearing voices and seeing glowing eyes.”

“Bob-Cat?”

“That’s what the Sheriff thought at first.” Though it was clear by his tone that they were worried about it being something worse.

The dinner went by quickly after that. Everyone’s attention on little Mieczyslaw, who positively basked in all the attention. Like a little prince, he ruled over his subjects with happy baby babbling and waving chubby arms. As the sun dropped, Olivia’s long day at work started to catch up with her.

“Alright my little man, it’s time to go home?” Spittle dribbled down Mieczyslaw’s chin as he kept babbling his story, Noah listening attentively while nodding and humming. Olivia made sure his face was clean before putting his knitted baby hat on. “Claudia, I can’t thank you enough for the hat, it’s so cute.” She plucked at the little fox ears, pressing several kisses to the baby’s forehead. He was downy soft and smelled of fresh baby powder.

“Alright, see you Friday.” With one last hug, Oliva was bustling out the door with Mieczyslaw pressed close. The cold winter air was biting, making her sniffling nose burn.

As Oliva walked down the driveway, she felt eyes upon her. Slowing her pace, she looked all around her trying to see if it was a nosy neighbor. Every house had at least one light on but no one could be seen in the yards or out the windows. A creeping feeling crawled up her spine as she thought she could hear someone whispering in her ears. She couldn’t even make out what was being said but it felt threatening. Trying to shake the feeling she quickly rushed to her car.

Buckling Mieczyslaw into his booster seat, the baby was instantly lulled to sleep, Olivia sighed in relief. With three calming breathes she buckled herself in. Adjusting the mirror to fix her hair, she suddenly saw them. A pair of vibrant yellow eyes, staring at her just over her shoulder. Stifling scream she swung her arm to hit the intruder behind her, but there was no one there. The cabin of the car was empty except for her sleeping boy. The doors were locked, windows open, there was no way there was actually someone there.

Reaching into the glove compartment, she checked out all the other windows. She rolled the crumpled paper between her fingers. The numbers were fading but she practically knew them by heart at this point.

“Call me if you ever need anything.” It was the last thing John Winchester had said to her before driving off. Well at least for 4 months. No, she saw and heard from him again when she called him needing to tell him that she was pregnant. She didn’t know what she was expecting his response to be, maybe denial, contempt, even rage. She wasn’t even going to ask him for help, she just wanted him to know. What she got instead though was the gruff reply, “We will be there in a week.”

We. He had said we; he was with someone else and he was bringing them with him. As the days passed Olivia’s nerves grew. Claudia was there to try and calm her, promising her that she would be there when they met, she wouldn’t let anything happen to her baby sister or her baby.

True to his word he had rolled back into town a week later. He wasn’t alone this time though, he had two young boys with him. They were his sons, from an old marriage is what he said. That is all he would say on the matter though. Sam and Dean were nice enough boys, she never got to know them very well though. They were reserved, stuck mostly to themselves. She was kept at an arms distance, and that’s where she stayed.

Something about the family business always kept them on the road and hesitant to stay in a town for more than 48 hours.

It didn’t take long for her and John to come to an agreement. She would have and raise the baby in Beacon Hills, john would send money and visits whenever his ‘work’ brought him into town. Claudia and Noah were more than happy to fill any support network that John would have traditionally done.

It wasn’t a perfect system but it worked for them.

Now though she needed him. Dialing the phone she felt the creeping dread morph into blind terror. Mieczyslaw started crying from the back seat, his high-pitched voice bouncing off the plastic interior. He finally answered, “John, I need you.”

* * *

“Where is she?” A ragged-looking man shouted, storming into the sheriff’s office. He was followed closely by two teenage boys who looked as rough and tumble as the older man. Claudia flinched at the sudden yelling, little Mieczyslaw started to wail again. His face was snot-covered and angry red, his voice sore from hours of crying. She shooshed him, bouncing the little boy, hoping to calm him down again.

She was exhausted, Noah, and she had been up almost 26 hours with no signs of getting sleep anytime soon. Fear ate at her heart; it had been gnawing away at it ever since Olivia didn’t show up to pick Mieczyslaw up. She hadn’t shown up for work, didn’t pick up her home phone, none of her friends had heard from her, her car was abandoned; she had just disappeared like a ghost.

Three days. It took three days until they heard anything about Olivia. Mieczyslaw cried the entire time, almost like he knew something was wrong. When Claudia picked up the phone just after dinner, she was hoping to hear her sister's smokey voice. Instead, she got the somber-sounding Sheriff informing her that they might have found her body.

Noah walked up to an angry man, standing to full height, “John?”

The other man gave Noah a once over, staring at the deputy badge for a second before calming slightly, “Yes.”

“Deputy Noah Stilinski, I am Olivia’s Brother-in-law.” The men shook hands. The two teens behind John didn’t say anything, just silently watching the adults talk. Claudia found it odd, normal teen boys were loud, rambunctious, wanting attention and fun, these boys though stood like soldiers. Maybe they were ROTC or something else. It was unimaginable to think that her little Mieczy, so full of excitable energy, could one day be like that. “What are you doing in town?”

“Olivia called me 3 days ago. She asked me to come.” She had called him? The last person she had talked to was John.

Before Claudia ask him what he knew, the coroner came up, a surprising jolly-looking man in a nice button-up and slacks. “Deputy Stilinski, nice to see you.”

“Hey Greg, I wish I could say the same.”

“You are right. I wish the circumstance were better. You are here to identify Miss. Jane Doe?” All three of them nodded. The corner thought gave a small frown to the crying toddler, “I am sorry Ma’am but I think it's best if the little guy stays out here.” Claudia stiffened.

“Please, I need to make sure it’s her.” She couldn’t be left out here, alone, to wonder and imagine. Her mind had already created such nasty images of what could have happened. Horror movie gore invaded her dreams every night.

Suddenly John said, “Dean.” Without asking questions the older of the two boys went to hold Mieczyslaw, Claudia pulled him back though. Jostling the toddler and making him cry again, “Don’t worry ma’am Dean helped raise Sammy here. He is good with kids.” John announced, landing a rather forceful pat on the younger boy who grimaced slightly.

“I don-“ She started to say, maybe she could wait out there. Then, Noah gently rubbed her back, he tried to give her a comforting, reassuring, smile.

“It’s okay Honey, we need to identify the body, probably best not to bring Mieczy with us.”

“I will be careful with him Ma’am,” Dean assured her, gently taking the toddler into his arms. Mieczyslaw’s cries instantly stopped as he stared in fascination at the other boy. Claudia still looked worried, torn between snatching Mieczyslaw back and actually following her husband. Dean tried to give her a reassuring smile, he even stopped himself from scowling at the kid as he pulled on his hair, to prove he could handle him.

“Dean, Sam, we will be back don’t move,” John commanded, with that the adults headed to where ever they were going to view the body. As they rounded the corner, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Great. Babysitting duty, again.” He pulled the toddler's hands away from his hair. Mieczyslaw’s lip started to tremble, his eyes scrunching up, ready to start whining. “Ahh, Ahh, none of that. I know fake crying when I see it.”

“What kind of name is Mieczy?”

“Hell if I know, Greek or something.” Dean pondered. Mieczyslaw started to squirm, pulling away from Dean, reaching for a bag left by the chairs. Sam picked it up, hand embordered on the front was Mieczyslaw. He brought it over to his brother, the toddler only getting louder making half words that sounded like ‘want and mine.’ Digging inside the bag, Sam pulled out a small toy. Mieczyslaw cooed at the sight of it and made grabby hands. “Want to play, little man?”

The trio sat on the floor where the bag was originally set, Sam and Dean's long legs boxing in the toddler. Which was a good call become once free Mieczyslaw made a beeline for freedom, attention now fully on the flashing tv. Pulling him back, Dean picked up the stuffed wolf toy and shook it to capture Mieczyslaw's attention again.

The toddler giggled and clapped, grabbing onto the stuffed toy and smothering it in sloppy wet kisses.

“You need better toys kiddo. Get you some G.I. Joes or Power Rangers”

“He’s just a toddler.”

“You’re never too young for Power Rangers.”

“He’d probably try and eat them.” To prove Sam’s point, Mieczyslaw shoved one of the stuffed feet of the wolf into his mouth. “So, you’re our little brother.” Sam seemingly announced to the toddler who replied by blowing raspberries.

* * *

God, homework was a waste of time. Stiles could be doing so much more interesting stuff. There was a new documentary out on syphilis in ancient Rome and he was just itching to watch it, pun intended. Throwing down his textbook, he rolled his neck, cracking a few joints. He needed a drink. Yes, a soda would help make this nightmare go by faster. Heading down the stairs, for the kitchen, he could hear the sounds of quiet talking. His dad was talking with barely recognizable voices.

Was that his brothers? Stiles was about to stampede into the living room demanding his yearly dues of hugs and hellos when Sam’s tone made him stop. They were talking in hushed tones like they didn’t want him to know they were there, “Have you heard from our dad?”

“John? No, not in almost a year. Is everything alright?”

“We haven’t seen him in months,” Dean confessed, he sounded torn between rage and despair.

“What can I do to help?”

“There isn’t much. We have been following his trail.”

“He was in town shortly to check on Stiles. Said he couldn’t stay long.” Noah told the boys, He was right, John had barely stayed a full day. He came on in, gave stiles several hugs and bruising hard pats on the back, gave his customary ‘You’re getting tall son’ comments, and just like that it felt like he was gone again. It would be disappointing if that wasn’t what Stiles expected. His entire life John Winchester seemed less like his biological dad and more like that weird uncle who taught you how to use firearms way too young and never seemed to have a real job.

“You and Stiles need to be careful,” Sam said in a coldly calculating way that Stiles would have never associated the taller man. “I know it will sound crazy but… we wanted you to have a copy. It could be helpful.” Peering around the corner Stiles saw as Dean handed over a bound book to his dad, who opened it and shuffled through the pages. Whatever he read made his eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Do you think… one of these... killed Olivia?” Stiles's breath caught at that. They didn’t really talk about Olivia, when she died Stiles was too young to remember her. Noah and Claudia had raised him and to him, they were his parents. Whatever had happened to her had been hard on them. As a little kid, they told him stories of course, especially of Olivia and Claudia growing up, but when Stiles asked why he never says Olivia they always became sad. All he really knew was that she was dead. He was probably Eleven or Twelve before they finally told him everything. Why he was raised by them. Exactly why Olivia wasn’t around. Just how he was related to John, Sam, and Dean.

“We are positive. We found and killed it ourselves.” Sam said, but the fact that whatever it was dead didn’t seem to comfort the Sheriff. Whatever his dad was reading in that book was proving to very surprising to him. “We need you and Stiles to keep an eye out. Things are happening and we don’t want you to be hurt.” Stiles's heart thudded in his chest. They were scared, he could hear it in their voices.

He waited, and waited, and waited some more until finally almost an hour Sam and Dean slipped out the door. They didn’t once ask to see Stiles. They asked about him but when the Sheriff offered to get him, they said it would be better he stayed out of it. They were being watched they feared. As they headed into the hall he raced as silently as he could back up the stairs. Hiding in the shadows of the upper floors he watched his two brothers leave.

The worry on the Sheriff’s face only grew as he stared at the book, limply flipping through the pages until the clock in the living room announced the top of the hour. He had to go to work. Stiles watched as he took the book and tucked it behind a series of large novels the lined the bookshelf. Once he had locked the door behind him, and the sounds of the sheriff’s car rolled away, stiles snatched up the book. He slipped back into his room.

Opening it he realized it was a handmade journal, the pages were a blotch grey from being scanned, copied, and printed on a cheap machine. It wasn’t a standard daily journal though, it was like a rudimentary hunting manual. Instead of hunting buck and fox though, this was to hunt ghosts, wendigos, demons, vampires, and werewolves

Supernatural creatures were real? Things that went bump in the night were real and they were dangerous. He spent the rest of his night read the book cover to cover, absorbing every bit of information he could about every creature he had ever heard of in a fairytale. He thought they were all fake but they weren’t, and this was a hunting manual to kill them all. His brothers were hunters.

Stiles kept the book, when his dad asked what happened he lied saying he never saw a leather journal. He reread it, and he started looking for clues. If there were creatures, he’d be able to figure it out not. That why he took Scott to the woods that fateful night. He had the book; he had the knowledge and he was ready to hunt down his first Werewolf.

He was expecting savage beasts, what he found was an attractive man in a leather jacket. Things were going to be way more complicated


	3. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brothers roll into town and that pack wants to know how Stiles knows them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend everyone! I hope that your week wasn't too grueling, but hey if it was at least it's over and you can now spend your free time reading Fanfcitoin, just as God intended. I know I have been using this project as a bit of personal therapy. I have been overjoyed by the growing support in such a short time and honestly getting the email notifications about all your kudos and comments makes waking up every day so much better.
> 
> Warning!! This chapter starts with a nightmare that depicts graphic violence and dead bodies.

“And as we can see here in the Bayeux tapestry, Edward the Confessor, the last king of the House of Wessex, is telling Harold to head to Normandy. Harol-“ Stiles’s mind couldn’t focus. Well to be fair, he normally had a slight problem focusing his mind but years of practice and Adderall made sure he got by. Today though, nothing seemed to help. His eyes were heavy with sleeplessness and his neck ached from the weight of his head that just wanted to lay down on the desk.

The teacher kept talking, pointing to printouts of a medieval tapestry to a bunch of teens who could care less. “Harold and his army began his march south.” The teacher turned then, no longer looking at the image but the class. An odd smile on his face, like he was excited at the chance to yell at their distracted teens, “I like Harold. Harolds are good people, they announce what others want to ignore. _Harold_ as Presidents, The _Herolds_ of conquering King, and especially _Heralds_ of the apocalypse. They are the most fun.”

Suddenly the door burst open, screaming bounced off the walls as kids fell to the floor. Guns were brandished and fired as two men came in, the light from the halls so bright Stiles couldn’t make out their features.

Stiles fell to the floor as well, just as he could hear the sounds of werewolf growls. Lights flittered about, billions of little lightning bolts dancing around the sputtering light bulbs. Garble voices spoke above him, coming to through the aging PA system. Lyrical and rhythmic, Stiles couldn't make you what was being said. All he knew was what was being said wasn’t in English.

He could hear the sounds of a fight happening around him. The shouting, thumbing, growling, banging the firing of bullets that flew over his head. Desks were flipped as Scott and the Pack threw themselves at Sam and Dean. His brothers returned the favor by lobbing all kinds of silver and mount ash-filled weapons at them. It kept going, louder and louder, for hours. Stiles was chocked by the stench of blood and mountain ash, was this what it was like during a war?

Then, with no fanfare, it was over. The sounds just stopped. Everything froze. Peeking open on eyes Stiles surveyed the classroom.

Sam and Dean stood over him, kneeling Dean had the same sickly smile twisted on his lips, “Do you know most people thought that _Heralds_ were crazy? That’s because they have no vision. Us though, we see it all.” Sam has pulled something behind his back. It was dark, black and blue and bloody. It landed with a wet thud, rolling to Stiles. He let out a strangled cry as Derek's head stared blindly back at him.

“And what a beautiful sight it is.” A voice was suddenly in his ear, whispering just over his shoulder.

Looking down, Stiles was on his feet with the gun in his hand, blood and matter coated his palms. Dropping it, the metal didn’t clatter on the floor, because too many bodies littered the floor. All around him were dead bodies, bleeding out. He saw the entire pack, his classmates, the sheriff’s department Sam, Dean, and his Dad. All of them dead by his hands. Their blood a sea of blood that was rising and fasts. It soaked through his clothes and chilled his skin, dying his shirt red and filling his mouth as he tried to shout.

Suddenly, he was jolted awake.

The bell was ringing. He was in class. Everything was fine. It was just another dream.

* * *

“Finally, free.” Stiles threw open the front doors to the school and strode out into the afternoon sun. It was hot out and felt amazing after-hours trapped instead of the frigid halls of the school. Someone was really blasting the air-conditioning in there lately, he was surprised you couldn’t see your breath in there. “I thought Math would never end,” a pox on whoever scheduled his Trig class for the end of the day.

He was so tired by the end of the day he couldn't read the board most of the time. That terrified him. Between the nightmares and falling into sudden naps at school, he felt like the edges between dreams and reality was blurring. It was driving him crazy. He read somewhere online that you couldn't read in dreams so to be unable to read the board in what he thought was the waking hours. He now had to resort to counting his fingers, looking even more like the school freak. 

Scott and Allison followed close behind him, arms wrapped around each other like they were conjoined twins or something. “I am just glad we don’t have practice tonight,” Scott added, he probably already made plans with Allison.

“Same. I don’t think I could handle Coaches yelling today.” Stiles yawned, his jaw cracking from how wide it got. “Too tired for that shit.” Scott hummed in agreement though he looked as perky as ever. Honestly, if the guy had dog ears and tail they were would be perked up and wagging nearly constantly.

“You have looked awfully tired this entire week.” Allison looked worried; she was far more observant than the rest of the pack gave her credit for.

Stiles just tried to shrug it off. He was exhausted. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week or two. The nightmares that started to seemingly leak into reality made it hard for him to relax enough to nap let alone actually get restful sleep. Hopefully, though they would be here soon to help him.

The door closed behind them and they took a moment to loiter on the steps. Take the moment for their last bit of socializing before going their separate ways for the night. Lydia strode past them, Jackson hot on her heels, her designer kitten heels clacking against the pavement. Derek was leaning against his Camero in his signature Henley and leather jacket, that he surely was sweating bullets in. He acted cool as ever staring, over his sunglasses, at the handful of female and male students who openly ogled him. His eyes kept shooting back to Stiles, smirking. Probably gloating at how easily he attracted people's attention.

Erica and Boyd were chatting with him as they waited for Isaac to head to Derek’s flat. They looked like the best-looking group of degenerates that central casting could offer.

Stiles cherished these kinds of moments when he could relax and pretend for just a moment that they were normal teens. There was no talk of evil Druids, full moons, or violent deaths instead it was the latest gossip and weekend planning.

Suddenly the humdrum sounds of an average school parking lot were disturbed by a ragging engine and even louder radio blasting Metallica. Heads turned to see who was causing it and through the entrance rolled a sleek black Chevy Impala. The ’67 muscle car stood out amongst all the latest cars, its straight edges looking sharper compared to the rounded curves of modern models. Stiles broke into a smile as he watched the car roll closer, the music getting louder, more people turning to stare.

Beside him, Scott asked, “Stiles … is that?” with a mix between excitement and apprehension.

Allison looked back and forth between the boys and the car, confusion growing on her face. “Who? Who is it?”

“It’s my Brothers.” Stiles raced down the front steps of the school, right up to where the black muscle car. The Impala came to a stop with the squeak of old metal that those kinds of cars always gave. As the engine cut, two men got out of the front seats. Both towered over the roof of the low-ride car and stood out amongst the flocks of high schoolers with their muscular builds, appealing tough-guy looks, and aura of self-confidence that people could only describe as being an adult. The only person in the parking lot who could give them a run for their money was Derek but he was such a common occurrence, picking up Isaac every day, that he went unnoticed by now. Stiles beamed as his brothers looked around, smiling back when they saw him, “Hey, do you always have to be a public nuisance?”

“What can I say? It's more fun this way,” Dean shrugged, walking around the car, throwing his arms out in the international sign of come hug me right now. Stiles instantly fulfilled the request, wrapping his arms tight around Dean’s back. His nerves loosened as he took in Dean’s smell, that of leather, fast-food, and drugstore deodorant. It reminded him of the rare visits when they stayed the night, watching movies and actually behaving like a family. “How you been Short Stack?” Dean asked, ruffling up Stiles' hair into an even bigger disaster.

“Not short anymore.” He puffed out his chest, standing to his full height of 5’ 10”.

“Still got a few feet to go.” Sam snarked, accepting a hug from the teen.

“That’s not fair you’re half mountain man.” Sam laughed good-naturedly as Scott and Allison walked up beside Stiles.

“Scott, Allison, these are my other Brothers, Sam and Dean.” Sam and Dean shook their hands. Stiles stood back, his back feeling hot under the stares around them He could basically feel the glowering eyes of Derek and the pack on him.

“Scott. Been a while, how you been.”

“I’ve been good. In high school. Captain of the Lacrosse team.”

“Lacrosse. Sammy and I never played before, maybe you can teach us.” As Dean suggested the idea a knot formed in Stiles' belly.

There was no way he could let that happen. He needed to keep his brother and the pack as separate as possible. He doesn’t know what it would be but there it would be inevitable that something would tip the hunting brothers off to his best friends’ new furry problem. The last thing he needed right now was the pack finding out he was related to hunters; it was one thing that Allison was but Stiles. He would be forced out of the pack or if Jackson had his way, killed for sure. Quickly he changed the subject. “We should get going.”

Scott and Allison said their goodbye, heading to his motorcycle.

“Alright come on, Spazz. We will drive you home.” Dean pulled him towards the Impala’s back seats.

“I can drive now, Bastard.”

“The drivers of this town are going to need better insurance.”

“Shut up! I am a good driver.” Stiles punched Dean in the arm. The jerk didn’t even have the decency to flinch. Instead, he gave another wry smile and took his own swipe at Stiles.

Sam snorted, “You know it's statistically the worst drivers that say that.”

“Come from two guys who’ve probably never driven the speed limit. Does that hunk of junk even have a working speedometer?”

“Hey!” Dean’s booming voice managed to drag more attention to them. All the werewolves now fully perked up and watching them carefully, “You can say whatever you want about us, but no one insults my baby.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes. “Just follow me in my Jeep.”

The trio got into their two cars and in a cacophony of old roaring engines and rusty chassis, they rolled out of the high school parking lot dragging stares as they went. As the left, some people went back to what they were doing, after all, whatever the sheriff’s kid does didn’t really affect them. The McCall Pack though were a different matter.

Isaac finally meets up with Derek, greeting the man with a “What just happened?”

“That was weird,” Erica commented, watching the Impala disappear around the corner. The young wolves didn’t notice the flush rising across Derek’s cheeks. He was tense as soon as the car rolled up. His pulse was raised and he was getting more aggravated as Stiles drove off with the two strangers. He nearly put a dent in his own car door from how hard he was gripping it. Slamming it closed he growled watching Scott and Allison mount his black motorcycle.

“Scott!” Derek stormed over, demanding the Alpha’s attention before he rode off, “Who the hell was that?”

“Yes” Lydia, Jackson’s arm wrapped around her neck, said with a looked of appreciation on her lips, “who were those giant slices of hunk pie?” Jackson growled at the insinuation but his girlfriend ignored his little tantrum.

Scott looked like a deer in the headlights, “Oh… uh… that was Sam and Dean… Stiles’ older brothers.”

“Older Brothers?!”

* * *

Pulling up to his house, Stiles noticed his dad’s car was missing from the driveway. He was probably pulling a double, what with all the recent deaths in the force. The Durach had single-handedly help wipe out a third of the force in less than a month. Hopefully, Sam and Dean could help prevent more deaths from happening in Beacon Hills and his dad could finally have a vacation day.

Sam and Dean parked the Impala in the street and followed Stiles through the front door. As Stiles throws his back to the floor, Sam and Dean made sure the door was locked. Fortunately, they seemed to miss the thing trail of mountain ash the Stiles tucked in the door frame. He would have to make sure they didn’t find any of his paraphernalia for the pack. As far as they needed to know, this was an issue only affecting Stiles.

“Alright, Stiles, what is going on?” Dean really didn’t beat around the bush. He followed Stiles into the kitchen and just stood there, arms crossed, watching Stiles fill up some water glasses. He didn’t answer at first, instead of using the task to try and collect his haggard thoughts. The lack of sleep was muddling his mind and sentences were getting harder to form.

He took a deep gulp of water. They stood there silent and patient for his response. Finally, he admitted his deepest fear, “I think something has come to Beacon Hills and is killing people.”

“Yes, you mention that on the phone.” Dean said, his frown only growing in concern, “What is something? Bobcat? Bear?”

Handshaking, Stiles stared into his water glass unable to look at his brothers, “No, I think it’s something supernatural.”

“Supernatural?” Sam sounded surprised. He sounded convincingly confused, if Stiles didn’t always know the truth, he would probably fall for it.

Dean was just as good of a liar. Instantly falling into light-hearted chuckles like they were just sharing jokes, “Like fairytale, ghosts, goblins, and bigfoot.”

Stiles shook his head no fiercely, “I know that Ghosts are real. I know that they and Wendigos and Demons and werewolves are all real.” Finally, he pinned his brothers down with a knowing glare, “And I know you hunt them.”

Silence fell over them as Stiles waited for their response. Sam and Dean looked at one another, a silent conversation happening that only years in a car could nurture. Then, Dean started his overly light-hearted laugh again, “I think all those comics are getting to you short stack.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” He was getting frustrate. Why did he have to convince them? Why didn’t people just believe him from the beginning? If they wanted to be convinced then fine he would, “I know you guys hunt them and I know you think supernatural creatures are what killed my mom.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked in a measured tone, trying not to give anything away. Stiles asked them to give him a minute, then he headed upstairs. In his room, tucked in a small crevice between the wall and his bookcase he pulled out the slightly tattered leather journal. He handed it over to Dean as he came back downstairs. The Brothers took one look at the book's cover than each other, before dropping the façade all together. “How did you get this?”

“I saw you giving it to my dad years ago. It’s a hunter's manual.”

“Well… I guess he was bound to find out about the family business sooner or later.” Sam ran his hand through his hair, the long strands falling into his face. He didn’t look happy but resigned to this fact.

Dean looks flat-out murderous, “It was your idea to tell them.” He spat trying to start a fire with how hard he glared at the book. He ignored the comment but Sam looked pissed.

“Does it matter how I got it? I have it, and I know what the “family business” is, and I need your help.” He was desperate. They were his last hope. If they couldn’t help then… then. He didn’t know what would happen other than it would be painful. His thoughts started to swirl, fixating on the chance this all failed. Death. Despair. Chaos. His breath was getting shorter, his head feeling woozy.

Sam grabbed his shoulders, steading his shaking body, “Hey. Hey, it's okay Stiles. We are here to help.” Sam held him until he calmed down enough to stand steady. Slowly he leads him over to the kitchen table, his warm presence an anchor. He grabbed a seat, lowered his head between his knees, Breathing deeply. Sam stood by his side, rubbing his back in a comforting fashion. Finally, after several moments, Stiles was able to calm his panicked breathing. Look up he saw Sam smiling with slight unease down at him “What is going on? Tell us everything.”

“I… I think I have been possessed… by a demon.”

“Shit.”


	4. The Rundown

Stiles's neck hurt; the back of his head was pulsing at the base where it met his spine. The three of them had grabbed a seat at the table. Dean had even taken a moment to make a cup of coffee. It would don’t much to calm him or even keep him awake but it was the thought that counted. He stared at his own distorted image in the inky black drink.

“You think you're possessed?” Dean asked first, he sounded hesitant. On edge like Stiles would jump over the table and attack him on

“Yes.”

“That’s… Dean is this possible?” Sam asked their oldest brother. What? They didn’t believe him? He was sure, he had checked the manual cover to cover. It wasn’t a perfect match but it had to be possession. Nothing else caused blackouts, confusion, and general chaos.

Dean gave him a once over then confessed, “We have never seen a posse maintain control.” He looked bothered, there were questions he wanted to be answered but Stiles couldn’t give him an answer. He didn’t know what was going on either. It was like a different personality or a sleeping beast within his body.

“Maybe it's gone. Like Cas.” Sam was also looking at him like a puzzle. “Until it comes back it will just be Stiles. Do you ever smell sulfur?”

"Outside of Chemistry? No."

"Stange flashing lights."

"I see lightning a lot in the dreams. Smell the electricity too."

“What do you remember of the times around these possessions.”

Stiles phone vibrated, pulling it out he sees a text from Scott. Ignoring the message, he put it face down on the table. “I get locked in my dreams,” He answered Dean’s question.

“like Freddy Kruger?”

“Yeah but… I don’t get hurt in my dreams. Others do. When I wake up… things have happened. People are hurt and I don’t know what I did.”

“How do you know that?”

They need some proof, heading to the entry he grabbed his keys, “Here.” Tossing them to Dean who looked even more baffled by the pile of metal, “Those are the keys to the school chemistry lab.” He pointed to the small heavily dented one, it was tarnish and covered in chemicals. Clearly, a copy passed amazing dozens of people over several years. “In the closet was Barrow’s blood and a coded instruction for Barrow to target a girl at my school.” Pulling out his phone he showed them the note that he and Lydia had discovered. They had grabbed a photo before destroying the evidence for Stiles's own safety, because “The instructions were in my handwriting.”

“Who is Barrow?” Dean asked, staring that the picture and keys.

“Mass murderer. He killed four kids and injured one in a bus explosion a few years ago.” Stiles told them, leaving out the fact that he claimed to see students with glowing eyes. Sam and Dean didn’t need to know about Beacon Hills pension for the teenage supernatural.

“Where’s Barrow now?”

“Dead.” Leaving the statement as bare as possible. He couldn’t tell them about the electrocution, why he was there, or that he got electrocuted as well but survived even though he is just as human at Barrow.

“Is there anything else?”

“When I dream, I have vague memories of the events. They are so real but also not. Mixed in with someone else’s thoughts. I think Barrow’s. I could… I could see what he saw and had his memories.” He shuddered remembering the rage he felt at the perpetual fear of everyone looking at him. Almost too afraid to make eye contact unless he saw the glowing eyes again.

“That does kind of sound like a possession.”

“Alright,” Sam said, “so we just need to perform an exorcism.”

“Question is what specific demon are we dealing with.”

Dean got up and went out to the Impala. When he returned there were several books and a duffle bag in his arms. Tossing them onto the kitchen floor, he and Sam started to pull books towards themselves, leading through the pages. Stiles interested was peaked, he hadn’t seen these many interesting books before. He could only imagine what kind of sun secrets they held within their binding. Almost vibrating out of his chair in excitement he asks, “What can I do?”

Dean waved him off not looking from a battered journal, “I think we got this, for now, Stiles.”

Sam added, at least looking up long enough to offer Stiles a grateful smile, “But thank you.”

“Oh... Yeah okay.” Stiles slumped slightly in his chair. They really didn’t need him. He was as useless to them as he was to the pack. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him. He just sat there and watched them work, wasting in his own uselessness.

“Alright, what kind of Demons deals with dreams?” Dean flipped through the books, looking for a specific entry

“Succubus maybe?”

“That would probably involve less murder more sex.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Digging it out he sees Scott sent out a group text to the entire pack. **_There is going to be a Pack meeting in an hour at Derek’s._** Ignoring it, Stiles tossed his phone onto the kitchen table.

“Cambions.”

“God help us if we ever have to deal with those. Belphegor?”

Instantly his phone starts to vibrate relentlessly as every pack member sends their confirmation to the Alpha. It was a constant nuisance as it rattles on the coffee table. Rolling his eyes, he snatched back up, unlocking it. Quickly he typed and sent his simple response. **_Can’t come. Busy._**

“Keep him as a possibility,” Sam scribbled the name on a piece of paper.

Not even a full 30 seconds later his phone vibrated again. It was Derek. **_It’s not a request._**

Great. He had gotten those kinds of texts before. If he ignored them then he was only asking to have the former alpha on his doorstep all but carrying him away. He could have the wolves sniffing around, not while his brothers were here. Now he had to find some way to slip away without worrying Sam or Dean.

Before he can even form a response his phone starts to ring in his hand. “Shit,” He whispers reading Derek’s name. Sam and Dean look at him concerned but he just awkwardly smiles. With a held heart excuse, he slips into the hallway.

Answering the phone, he snaps a, “What?”

“You’re coming.” It was Derek, voice as gruff as ever. He sounded aggravated.

“I got your text, alright.” Stiles leaned against the wall trying to keep his voice low.

“You will be here in an hour.” There was no room for negotiation in his voice. Stiles was never good at listening to orders though.

“And if I say no?”

“I will come to get you.”

“Threatening me. Charming”

“Don’t make me come to your house.”

“And what? You going to huff and puff and blow it down?”

“Stiles.” Derek rumbled his name. It rattled something in Stiles’ chest all the way down into his lower belly.

He sighed, trying to release the flutter in his belly, “I can’t okay. I am busy. I have-“

“You are coming. Or else.” The line clicked dead after that. With a frustrated sigh, Stiles wanted to chuck his phone against the wall. Instead, he raked his hands through his hair scratching at his scalp in anger.

“Everything okay, Stiles?” Sam was leaning on the door frame to the kitchen, hand in his pocket, looking concerned.

“Yeah. Yeah. Um, I just forgot I have a group project I was supposed to meet up with tonight.” Dean's head snapped up at that, whatever he was reading instantly forgotten. Sam shared another look with him. Stiles couldn’t help but be jealous of all those looks. They knew each other so well; they were the closest set of siblings Stiles knew of and here he was. The od man out. The half-brother who didn’t… couldn’t understand them even a tenth, as well as they, knew each other. They could hold countless silent conversations and here Stiles was unable to read the most basic emotions off of them. For not the first time he felt like more of a stranger than a brother.

Dean stood up, “I don’t thi—”

“You should probably get going then.” Sam cut off his older brother, back to the sour look that Dean was sending him. He patted Stiles on the back, almost pushing him back to the front door. “Can you be back by 7:30?”

“Oh… uh yeah. I can do that.” Stiles confirmed. It was weird he never had a curfew before. Sam gave him an approving smile and patted him on the back. It was one of the biggest brother movies had done since they got home and it made Stiles happy. With one last nod, he grabbed his bag and headed to the door. “Okay. I will be back by 7:30 at the latest.”

“Say Hello to your friends for us.” Sam followed him to the door and held it open. “Dive safe short stack.” With one last wave, he closed the door as Stiles head to his battered Jeep.

Just as Sam looked at the door, “Why the hell did you do that?’ Dean demanded. He was standing up, hands fisted like he wanted to punch the wall.

“If he is possessed, it would be better not to have a demon around us while we plan its own exorcism.” Sam stood steadfast in his decision. Besides, he figured it was better to let Stiles have the last few moments of normal teenage life. He deserved a chance at a normal life. After they went after the demon there was no guarantee he could just go back. Though, he doubts Dean would understand.

“So, you just sent a potential demon to hang out with kids.”

“He said bad things only happen when he is asleep.”

“That doesn’t mean it will stay that way.”

“We can track his phone keep tabs. If he isn’t back when he is supposed to be then we will go find him.” Sam grabbed a seat back at the kitchen table, dragging one of their demonology books towards him. “Come on let’s make sure we have everything we need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question. How do you guys like these slightly shorter chapters? On one hand, it makes it easier to update sooner but then they are also faster reads. any thoughts?
> 
> \--Thank you for Reading!--


	5. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. We are getting close to the holiday season. I will probably be slower to update because of that so I thank you in advance for your patience.
> 
> Also, I realized I forgot a since in chapter three and went back to add it. I will try in the future to not go back to make major backlog changes like this in the future but if I do I will always let you guys know when I update.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The gravel under his tires crunched as Stiles’ jeep pulled into the lot by Derek’s apartment. Throwing it into the park he sent a quick text back at Scott confirming he had just arrived and did have all the Pizzas the Pack asked for. What was better than a sudden impromptu meeting? A sudden impromptu meeting that you had to feed. Hopefully, ten large pizzas would do the trick.

The sun had disappeared behind thick dark clouds, the ozone taking on a sickly green pallor as the threat of coming storm. Fat drops of rain plopped against his forehead, slightly matting his hairs against his skin. The rest of the Pack’s cars were already there, parked in a neat line. The patches of the dry ground under them hinting at them being parked there for a while.

Rain clouds just opened up, the showers getting heavy as he wrestles himself and the boxes into the building. Gently kicking open the door, he can hear the soft mumbling of the Pack. No one bothered to greet him as he tossed the pizza boxes onto the counter. The conversation died down as Stiles dug out enough clean plates setting them next to the boxes, sensitive noses picking up on the smell of cured meats and dough.

“Yo! Foods up,” Stiles announces, quickly trying to swipe his own slices before a wolf bit it off. A stampede of teenage wolves barreled in, the sounds coming from the kitchen was like starving wild animals. Stiles couldn’t get out of there fast enough, Stiles stumbled out into a solid body.

As he scrambled to keep his two slices from slipping onto the floor he heard, “it’s about time you got here.” Derek growled, glaring at Stiles in his typical greeting.

Stiles rolled his eyes; the scary guy shtick lost its effects a while ago… well mostly. “Hello to you too, Derek.” They stood there in silence watching the other wolves file out of the kitchen, plates weighted down in pizza and even a few forgoing them for just a whole box instead.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were curled up on the couch sharing two boxes amongst them. Lydia was practically sitting on top of Jackson watching him eat in the love seat. Scott sat in one of the armchairs with Alisson sitting on the armrest. Leaving the last armchair for Derek.

Stiles followed them into the living room, leaning against the wall. “Alright, guys. So, this will have to be quick. I have to get back home,” The Pack just look at him, with far too much interest, like he was the one who called the dumb meeting. “Any new information on those demon Samurai?”

“No. Nothing yet.” Scott shook his head.

“Oh," Stile swiped at the grease pooled on his chin from a particularly large bite, "then what’s with the emergency meeting? Hopefully, there isn’t another big baddie in the woods again.”

Scott was chewing on a piece of pizza, buying himself time to try and phrase his response. Before he can respond though, Derek took over, “We need to talk about this afternoon.”

“Uh?” Stiles dropped his pizza on the plate, suddenly not hungry.

“Who were those guys at the school?”

“What?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. All of the Pack was looking at him skeptically, with apprehension and mistrust. Stiles stomach sunk; they were looking at him like he wasn’t Pack. “Who were the two thirty-something guys you drove off with?”

“Are we seriously having a meeting about Sam and Dean?” Only Scott seemed to have the decency to look slightly uncomfortable by that fact.

“Yes,” Derek answered for all of them. He might not still be the Alpha but he still acted like it. “It is important to Pack business.”

“More like none of your business.” Stiles snapped, glaring at the older man.

“Scotts already told us everything he knows.”

“Which, as usual, isn’t much.” Jackson snarked around a disgustingly large bite that made Lydia scowl

“Hey-“ Stiles cut off his friend though before they could start a fight.

“So, you already knew? Why are you grilling me then?”

“Stiles, please,” Alisson smiled at him, trying to keep the peace, “we just want to know more.”

Stiles just stared at them, taking in their curious and reserved looks. They were looking at him like they had never seen him before, “I don’t know what you want from me. Sam and Dean are my older brothers.” That was all they needed to know.

“But how?” Jackson asked.

“… well when a woman takes pity on a man and the-“

“Shut the fuck up, Freak.”

Stiles scowled, wanting nothing more than throwing his plate at Whitmore’s stupid face, “Sorry, thought you needed a quick sex ed refresher, Jackass.”

Jackson’s eyes flashed blue, growling menacingly at Stiles, “You little—”

“Jackson. Stop it.” Lydia instantly shut him up, ignoring the petulant scowl her man-baby of a boyfriend gave her. Good, Jackson needed to know when to shut his big mouth. Stiles would honestly pay to watch Lydia put him in his place more often.

Derek interrupted Stiles' fantasies of chains and whip, but not in a kinky way. Well maybe a little in a kinky way, he was a teenage boy after all. Derek demanded his attention in a tone that fits a bit too well into his little daydream. “So, your parents had two brothers that we never met because they were sent off to boarding school? Juvie?”

Stiles bristled. No one talked about his family like that. Not even the Pack. “Don’t act all high and mighty. Half your Pack would be in juvie if it weren’t for me or my dad.”

Derek stood up; shoulders raised. He was about two seconds from throwing Stiles up against the wall when Scott intercepted him, “It’s just weird that they only roll into town every few months and never stay.” His best friend sounded placating, trying to not be accusatory but still support the Pack's concerns. “I have known you for years and I’ve only met them twice.”

Stiles grumbled, throwing up his hands, how was he supposed to answer that? “They travel a lot for work. They don’t stay anywhere for too long.” He told them in a tone that conveyed his true thoughts. Why does it matter?

“What kind of work?” Derek kept pushing.

“Family business.”

“Stiles. You’re not answering the question.”

“No, I am. You’re just asking a lot of stupid ones.” Derek fisted the front of his shirt, long claws popping a few stitches from the force. Stiles frowned, grabbing Derek’s hands to try and pull him off. His eyes were flashing between blue and brown and his hot breath was moist against Stiles flushed skin.

“Why have we never met two of the Sheriff’s sons?”

“They are technically my half-brothers.”

“Your mom?” Lydia asked, watching the two of them like they were the world’s biggest idiots.

Stiles tried to ignore Derek, as the man refused to let him go, shaking his head no, “My Dad. John Winchester is our biological father.” He could just barely make out the little gasps that most of the Pack members made in surprise. Derek’s grip even loosened enough for Stiles to slip free.

“The Sheriff isn—"

“That still doesn’t make sense on why they never lived here.” Derek was standing impossibly close to Stiles's back, a blazing heat behind him.

“They don’t live here because they aren’t from here…” The Pack ogled at him. He wasn’t crazy, they were looking at him like they had never met him before. It made him uncomfortable, If the people in your life don’t recognize you then how can you be sure you are who you think you are. “My biological mom was a woman named Olivia, she had a one-night stand with John and got knocked up with me.”

“You’re adopted?” Lydia stood up, stepping closer, getting a better look at him. Boxing him in between her and the former alpha.

“When Olivia died, her sister and husband took me. My parents raised me.”

Lydia pressed one of her soft warm palms into the crook of his elbow, “So when you say your mom died…”

“Technically… They both did.”

“Why did you never talk about her?” Scott spoke up, “You never told me.”

“I don’t know. Never came up. Olivia died when I was so young, I barely have memories of her. As you all have kindly noted John isn’t around much. He usually swings by on my birthday and Christmas, if he can. Hard to be a mom and dad when you’re not around. I have always seen my parents as my parents, not them.” The Pack was silent. Just taking in what they told them. There, they knew everything. They dug and dug and like dogs tore up everything they wanted from his past. “Now that we have all dug up the roots of my family tree. Can I go?”

The rest of the Pack seemed satisfied, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd in fact going back to their pizzas. Derek however wasn’t ready to let it go, “why are they here now?”

“Family Reunion.”

“Be serious, Stiles.”

Stiles gave a self-deprecating smile, “You’re right. Why would they possibly want to come and see their little brother once in a while?” Derek stepped back, looking like he had been slapped. Good, he should feel bad. Stiles might not be important to him but he was important to some people. Even if it was only his dad, brothers, and Scott. He was worth something damn it, “This must be a surprise to you all but there are at least two people in the world who want to spend time with me.” Throwing his plate onto the coffee table he stomped towards the front door. The Pack's silent stares following him, “So, if you don’t mind. I’m going to go home now.”

He almost made it through the door when a hand landed on his shoulder. He was ready to chew Scott out for holding such a stupid meeting and wasting his time when he realized it was Derek. “Stiles,” He had one hand on Stiles's should and another holding the door closed, trapping stiles between his warm body and the exit. 

“Derek, Seriously I’m done,” Tiredness washed over Stiles. His back aching, wanting nothing more than to lay down. He just wanted to go home, chug a pot of coffee and try to stay awake for another miserable night. his brothers were here and they were going to take care of everything, he just had t make it to the exorcism. He had to shake the Pack long enough to take care of whatever was tormenting him. He grabbed the door handle with both hands and pulled it with all his might. It was futile, Dereks strength keep the door shut tight. Angry rising, Stiles tries again and again literally throwing his whole weight into opening the damn door.

“Stop!” Derek snapped, literally pressing stile again the door with his body to keep him from moving. He growled into Stiles's ear making goosebumps rise on his neck.

“What? What do you want?” He couldn't even see the man, he was pressed so snuggling along his back.

“You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean… are… how are you doing?” cold air filled the gap as Derek finally stepped back, his hand still on the door, but getting a full look at Stiles. The teen squirmed under the look, unsure of what the wolf was seeing. His hand still on the door.

The most interesting things always happen in doorways. That's all Stiles could think as he watched Derek watch him. None of his normal glare was on his face. He looked sad, confused, dare Stiles to say, even guilty. There was a pressure to his look, but not in the same threatening way as his growling and wall throwing. This was warm, like a weighted blanket against Stiles tired body. It made Stiles want to curl up into his chest and sleep for years. Suddenly lightning flashed from the windows, throwing them into sudden stark light. Gasping Stiles looked around, scared to find more lightning. There was else nothing there though, just Derek.

“I am fine.” He finally mumbled out, sounding totally unconvincing event o himself.

"You are tired.” Derek reiterated with complete conviction.

“… Yeah. Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Why?” the question was far too soft. Mumbled so the other wolves couldn't hear. in a voice that was meant for lazy Sunday mornings and not stormy fights.

Stiles couldn't hold back his gasp. Heart racing faster and faster, “I don’t know.”

“What can I do?” Nothing. There was nothing they could do. That was why he called his brothers. Brothers who were waiting for him. He needed to leave.

"I have to go." Derek didn't try and stop him as he pulled open the door.

Instead, he just leaned a bit closer and said even softer, “I don’t want you to get hurt."

Lightening kept flashing outside in rapid succession. Was he dreaming? He had to be. If he didn't leave soon he would surely hear the voices soon. "I won't."

"I don’t trust them."

"Derek... they are my brothers."

“But they're not…” Not what? Pack? Family? Related to Stiles? Why else would they be here? Why would they want to help Stiles? Why would anyone want to help? He was just Stiles. A glorified pizza boy with nightmares that could fuel a serial killer.

"Goodbye." He slipped out the door and raced out into the storm, headed home.

Completely missing as Derek simply said, “Please, be safe.”

The Pack was silent. All of them worried and confused. Stiles... Something was very wrong. “Derek, you heard his heartbeat too, right?” Scott asked watching the former alpha sit in his seat, looking broken.

"Yes. He is lying about something.”


	6. The Exorcism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to go to school and be normal. Easy, right?

“Dean, don’t you have any music that is of this decade?” Stiles asked from the back of the impala.

“Thank you!” Sam swiveled in the passenger seat, giving Stiles a beaming smile. The laugh lines around his eyes just barely covered up the tired bags under his eyes.

“Shut it Short Stack, Driver picks the music.” Dean practically growled, glaring at him through the rearview mirror. Stiles couldn’t help but snort, he had been growled at by far scary creatures than his big brother.

Settling back into his seat, Stiles leaned up against the back window, listlessly watching as the neighborhood rolled past. The rhythmic beating of drums filled the car, providing the early morning calm with an aggressive soundtrack. It rattled the windows, banging into Stiles temple, it wasn’t comfortable but it kept him awake.

His brothers were situated in the front of the car. Spread out and chatting with comfort that spoke to hours spent in the car. They spoke in low tones, making it hard for Stiles to hear what they were talking about in detail. Stray words like salt, crosses, and tattoo being thrown around. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he was so tired he couldn’t even raise his energy to care.

As the high school got closer, Stiles wanted nothing more than to tell Dean to just drive past. He would be lucky to even keep his eyes open during class right now. Not to mention he didn’t have the energy to deal with the Pack, their questions, and looks. Who really cared about going to class when they could be possessed? Stiles had tried last night to convince them to let him skip, but Sam was insistent he go and be a normal teenager’. Fat chance of that ever happening.

The Impala pulled up to the curb, the muscle car's engine making tired teens look disconcerted at the noise.

Dean smiled like he was a father dropping off his kid on the first day of school, “Alright, we are here.”

Peering out the other window, Stiles could see the Pack milling around Derek’s car. All of them shooting uncomfortable looks at the Impala. They weren’t even pretending to be talking to each other. They just stood around staring at Stiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean follow his line of sight and take notice of the Pack. A deeply suspicious look marring his face.

Stiles blanched, sinking lower into his seat, “Can’t I just go with you?”

Dean was too busy glaring back at Derek and the Pack to answer Stiles's question. “We have to go get supplies and get set up. It is going to take a while.” Sam explained to him again, shoving Dean to get his attention back.

“Yeah, it would be better for you to go to school than just sit around waiting for us.” Dean agreed, not even pretending for a moment that he thought Stiles could be helpful to them.

“I could help…”

Sam looked sympathetic but still shook his head no, “Sorry Stiles, if you are possessed, we can’t risk this demon getting in the way and messing with preparations.”

“To be honest,” Dean added, back to glaring out the window, “we are risking even telling you we are preparing.”

Sam was quick though to try and calm Stiles mounting anxiety, “But don’t worry. We are professionals at this and we will take care of everything.”

Accepting his fate, Stiles grabbed his bag off the floor and crawled out of the car. Slamming the door shut he stood there for a moment, looking at his own reflection. God, he looked tired and awful.

Rolling down the window, Sam poked his head out, “We will pick you up after class.” With a caring smile, he patted Stiles's hand, “Only a few more hours.” The ‘hang in there’ was unspoken but felt in the warm reinsurance of his tone. Taking a deep, grounding breathe, Stiles stepped onto the curb.

“Okay, I will see you later.” He waved goodbye as his brothers drove off.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam watched as a man in a leather jacket walked towards Stiles. He looked at Dean, who was gripping his wheel a bit tighter, “What were you staring at?”

“Did you not notice that adult surrounded by teenagers.”

“No… you worried that he could be…” Sam didn’t finish his sentence, not even sure what could be the worse possible outcome of a situation like that.

“I don’t know.” Dean admitted, “but he was staring at Stiles and I don’t like it.”

Sam’s stomach was noted. Something was going on with Stiles that was more than just simple possession. If there was a possession. What if Stiles just made it up to make sure they came for him. What if something bad was happening but it was entirely human. No, he couldn’t doubt his little brother though. Stiles said it was supernatural and Sam had to trust him on that. Stiles was a good kid. A bit weird but he wasn’t a liar, not like John, Dean, and himself, “Okay. One issue at a time. Let’s get this exorcism over with and then we can deal with the creep.”

Stiles was family and they would make sure Stiles was safe, even if it was the last thing they did.

* * *

As the Impala pulled further away, Stiles felt the weight on his shoulders grow heavier. That protective layer of his older brothers has ripped away as they left. Leaving him alone and cold. Only a few hours more. He just needs to get through one more day of school and then they would be back to help him.

“Stiles…” Whirling around Stiles was greeted by Derek’s deep-set scowl.

“Hey, dude.” He plastered on an overly wide smile.

“Why didn’t you drive?”

“Oh… uh, Sam and Dean wanted to bring me today. You know spend time with me and such.”

Derek just stood there for a moment, giving Stiles a once-over. Stiles fidget under the other man’s inspection, trying not to focus on the fact that he couldn’t read any emotion in those hazel eyes. He curled in on himself, trying to hide the clear signs of his deficiencies. Derek seemed to bother by what he observed. Stiles knew he was a bit gangly and awkward but he wasn’t completely ugly. You try and have a positive body image when surrounded by rock-hard werewolf abs and the sheet majesty of Lydia Martin.

“You look tired again,” Derek announced.

“Yeah, we stayed up late last night.” Stiles half admitted. He wasn’t going to tell Derek that they were up all night talking about Demons. Well, more Sam and Dean talking, Stiles just listened with rapt attention.

There was no way Stiles was going to tell the former alpha about his possible possession. Derek would probably kick him out of the Pack right then and there for risking the safety of the others. No, this was another secret he just had to keep to himself.

“You need your sleep.” Derek looked equally concerned and unimpressed. “You need it to stay healthy.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes, god he did not have the energy to deal with this today. His thoughts had been swimming since last night and he was lucky if he could string together a full thought in his head let alone actually talk, “Look I know I am a fragile human but I will be fine.”

Derek rolled his eyes giving a put upon sigh of “Stiles-“

“No seriously. Look I apricate it but I will be fine dude.” Stiles reiterated trying to pull away from Derek and head into the school. Derek wasn’t letting him go through, literally, a solid grip still on Stiles's shoulder.

“Why can’t you just listen for once?” Derek huffed the question, seemingly to himself. The comment still stung though. Stiles bristled, his tired nerves tightening.

“Why don’t you go worried about your own business? I am sure your Pack needs you!” Stiles slightly heaved after his outburst. Derek just blinked at him which irritating Stiles more. That look made him feel like he was being a drama queen, that his reaction was over the top for such a nothing conversation.

The School bell rang behind him and taking that opportunity, Stiles turns and just barely managed to not run in through the front door.

Derek’s frown grew as Stiles disappeared amongst the sea of students. Fiddling with his car keys he headed back to the pack of teenagers who were slowly making their way towards the class.

“Scott,” Derek took the young Alpha’s attention away from whatever he was talking to his girlfriend about. A cheery morning smile showing his obliviousness to the situation. “Can you make sure the Pack keeps an eye on Stiles?” Without question Scott started pulling Betas aside, making a plan to have at least one werewolf with Stiles all day.

* * *

Of course, on the one-day Stiles is desperate to stay awake, his history class has a sub that just plays a documentary for the class. The lights are off and the slightly monotone narration flows overtop a slide show of black and white photos. Students are sitting low in their desks texted, doodling, sleeping, basically everything other than watching the film. Stiles can feel his own head start to bobble side to side as he desperately tries to keep his eyes open and awake.

Scott is to his right and just blatantly staring at Stiles instead of the screen. Stiles would probably pass him a note if he could, but writing seems like too much work right now. All his attention focused on watching the screen or staring at his hands.

As images filtered past light flashed repeatedly making shadows bounce around the room. Not as chaotic as lightning but far too similar for Stiles's liking. He was on edge waiting for the narration to change and voices to start whispering to him in languages he could not understand. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Okay, he was good, all ten fingers. He was awake.

“Stiles…” Scott whispered, head in his arms on the desk, “You okay man?”

Stiles just nodded at him, giving a small reassuring smile. Though, by Scott’s frown, it was clear it didn’t do a very good job to assuage his concerns.

* * *

The feeling of Scott's eyes on him lasted long after the bell had rung and they went their separate ways. As he walked down the hall, avoiding running into clusters of friends chatting, Stiles felt like a pair of eyes were constantly on him. It was a skin-crawling feeling he expected to feel in the woods at midnight, not at 10:45 am in the high school hallways.

“Stiles!” Suddenly a person yelled from down the hallway, heads swiveled to see a stunning young woman marching down it like a catwalk. Erica had heeled boots that clacked against the tiles announcing her presence. She gave him a toothy smile as he stopped for her, surprised, he didn’t have a class with her today. Did she even have class in this part of the school?

“So, Stiles tell me about your brothers.” In a swirl of blonde curls, Erica threw an arm around his neck with so much force his neck joints cracked loudly.

She nearly completely knocked him to the ground as he was wabbling blindly down the hall, eyes practically closed as he walked. Before he could fall another, a hand grabbed him and helps stabilize him. Isaac was a slide in on Stiles's other side, giving that pompous self-important smile he wore defensively during school.

“What about them?” He asked wearily, not particularly impressed with the hungry look in Erica’s eye.

“Are they single?”

“Erica, they look like they are twice our age.” Isaac laughed like she was joking and not totally giving Stiles eyes that spoke of her seriousness. She simply shrugged off the judgment.

“Come on, Batman.” She purred, patting Stiles’ face, still handing off him like a monkey. The trio taking up the entire hallway, forcing freshmen to pressed up against lockers as they passed. “Don’t leave a girl hanging.”

“I don’t really understand why you care so much.” Erica wasn’t one to show overt enthusiasm. Even after being werewolfified™ she stuck to the cool girl act than show her passions.

“She wants to run away with them.” Isaac teased though Erica didn’t seem at all embarrassed about the accusation.

“Gross.” Stiles groaned, trying to avoid the sudden images of Erica wrapped around one of his brothers. Erica punched him in the arm with a bit too much force for that comment. Surely it would bloom into a large bruise. “Ow. I don’t know. I think they are single, they move around a lot so it’s probably hard to date.” He practically whines, rubbing his arm, it was already starting the swell and darken slightly.

Erica’s smile only grew, which scare Stiles more, “What do they like?”

“Uh, Driving… I guess. They mostly spend their day driving around, working.” Erica urged him to keep going. “I don’t know… Dean is the oldest, always was with the family business, has terrible music taste. Sam, I think, went to Stanford for a while before dropping out but I don’t really know why.”

“What do they do for work?” Isaac asked. What were they playing twenty questions?

“I don’t know. We don’t really talk about it.” Stiles lied through his teeth, hoping the pair of werewolves couldn’t pick up on his heartbeat.

“Is there anything you actually do know about them?” Isaac snarked. Stiles face flushed under the self-congratulatory look Isaac was sending him, like a debate team that just crushed the competition.

“You said it was a family business, right,” Isaac said more like a statement than as a question.

“Yeah.” He answered slowly not sure where this was going.

Isaac hummed and nodded like it was the most interesting answer he could have gotten. Then he asked in a blasé tone, “Why aren’t you in the Family business?”

Instantly Stiles's heart sunk at the question. His fatigue morphing into something darker. He had a sore spot and Isaac had just rammed into it with a 10-wheeler truck in the form of a question. He was sick at the implications that Isaac was making. He and his brothers had been calling it the family business for so long he had started to forget what it could seem like to someone on the outside. What did it say when there was a family business but your family didn’t want you in it? What if your family saw you less than your pediatrician?

Was he not family? Where did that leave him? He wasn’t fully a pack member and not fully a Winchester. He was just Stiles. Floating around by himself. Barely tied down by his father.

“Why would I be? My dad is the Sheriff here.” He glared, curling in on himself, trying to shake the set of arms that were still wrapped around him. He had his dad and Scott and that was enough for so long. Why wasn’t it enough now?

“But you’re their family,” Erica asked with a softness that she rarely used. It still cut like a knife though. Stiles's eyes started to tear up, he felt like he was about to crumble at any second. There was a storm inside of him and it was threatening to escape, blowing him away with it. The hall started to blur around the edges of his vision.

“I… I don’t know okay. Look I got to go.” He quickly shook off Erica’s hold and ran down the hall, ignoring the two werewolves calling his name as he headed for the nearest bathroom.

Throwing open the door, a small part of him was relieved to see the stalls were empty. Heading into the first one he locked it and set it on the ground, curling in tight to block out the light. He focused on his breathing. Six beats breathe in. Hold for five. Out for seven. Repeat. The heavy controlled sound of his breathing giving him something to dedicate his mind to, instead of the swirling mass of confused sadness.

Slowly, the thundering in his heart started to calm, his nerves coming back from the edge.

Then he started to notice something else was making noise. It was a soft humming, rising and falling in volume, in time with his breath. Looking up Stiles noticed the fluorescent lights above him starting to flicker. The sound of illuminated gas sputtering inside its glass casing. Suddenly, just as he realized what was going on, the bulb burst. A blinding flash filled the stall and billions of burning sparks fell onto his head.

Scrambling to his feet, Stiles tried to beat out the dozens of little fires that caught across his body. The smell of burning cotton and plastic-filled his nostrils as his clothes smoldered around him. Throwing open the stall door he scrambled for the skin. Twisting the nobs, he cupped the brown water gushing out of the old pipes and threw it on himself. Coldwater soaked through his t-shirt, matted his hair to his forehead, and darkened the front of his jeans. Gasping he kept splashing himself, eyes squeezed tight as he tried to smother all the little fires.

Sulfur from the brown water joined the smell of burning. Desperate he started taking large handfuls of water and start scrubbing his limbs. He rubbed his skin red but he managed to put out the fires, only small burnt holes in his clothes were left behind. Gasping for breathing he slowly shut off the water.

Shaking out the excess water in his hair he stood back up and checked himself in the mirror. He expected the terrible appearance, dripping like a wet rat and clothes burned. He wasn’t ready for the utterly black eyes and yellow teeth that smiled back at him.

He let out a scream, throwing his head back and hitting a wall. Stars burst in his vision but as they slowly faded once more, he realized where he was. He was still in the bathroom stall, sat against the wall. Bone dry and apparently asleep until seconds ago.

* * *

Stiles was slumped, his head no more than a few feet above the cafeteria table, his lunch mostly forgotten as he watched Kira from across the room. She was sitting with a small group of girls Stiles barely knew. She was smiling and laughing and looked like a perfectly normal high schooler. A far cry from the terrified girl with glowing eyes sitting in a pool of water chained up.

He didn’t know what she was or how she had survived the electricity like he had but Scott was keeping a close eye on her. Whatever she was, she didn’t seem intent on doing anything other than going to school and make friends. He watched her roll her head back and laugh a bit too loud, so tickled by a joke she couldn’t be bothered to feel self-conscious about the eyes she would attract with her giggles.

Suddenly an attractive set of legs leading up to an orange skirt cut off his vision. Raising his head, he saw the judgmental look of miss Lydia Martin. Cracking his most winning smile he greeted her, “Hey Lydia.”

“Stiles.” She gave him one of her patented smiles, the kind that says she is blessing you with it and you better shows the appropriate gratefulness for the opportunity. She set down her lunch down in front of him, demurely setting down as a fist punched Stiles in the shoulder, right where Erica had. Yep, definitely going to have a bruise there.

“Move over Stilinski.” Jackson barked trying to shove Stiles off the bench.

“What do you want Jackson?”

“Just move.” Jackson shoved him again so he bitterly scooted over making room. The awkward trio sat there in silence, Lydia primly eating her sushi, Jackson tearing into a burger, and Stiles just watching the two of them like they had grown horns. Looking over his shoulder he found the popular table, Danny and all the other lacrosse guys sitting with their girlfriends. A two-person space still clearly open for the duo that now chose to sit with Stiles. Turning back, he gave them another confused stare.

“So… umm is everything okay?” He asked, not really sure what he should be saying to them. Jackson's scowl just grew as Lydia finished her bite before answering.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lydia replied giving him a pressing look like he had all the answers.

“You usually sit over there.” A loud bit of laughter coming from the popular table as he pointed to it. Jackson looked over with a bit of turning that Stiles could only compare to that of a puppy looking at a ball.

Lydia didn’t even bother to look at the rambunctious table at the other end of the cafeteria, “And today we are sitting here.”

“Cool… Cool. So why are you sitting over here?”

“Like I really want to babysit you during my lunch break.” Jackson snapped, actually squeezing his soda can enough that it dented.

“Babysit? You came and sat next to me!” Jackson snarled at him making Stiles jump at the sudden animalistic danger.

Lydia scoffed, finishing off the last bite of her sushi, “If you two going to fight this entire time I will just go.” She picked up her tray, ready to leave but Jackson stopped her. The pair shared a heated conversation in low whispers which Stiles tried his best to ignore. Instead, he put what energy he had into slowly peeling apart bits of crush from his sandwich and slowly eat it.

“Stiles!” He jumped again at the sudden volume of Lydia’s voice. Looking up he saw the pair giving him bewilderingly unimpressed expressions.

“Sorry, What?”

Lydia looked haughty, clearly annoyed with the fact that he had been ignoring her, “I asked you what are you doing tonight.”

Stiles resettled in his seat, going back to tearing at his food. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should eat. It was probably going to be a long night. After a moment of unsuccessfully trying to come up with lies, he finally said, “Nothing much.”

“Good. The pack is meeting at Derek’s and doing Chem homework together.” Lydia announced much to stiles surprise and Jackson’s scowl.

“What?” They never met for things like schoolwork.

“Scott wants us to bond.”

“Oh. I can’t I am spending time with my brothers.” Stiles quickly confessed, flushing slightly at the miffed look Lydia gave him for lying.

“You said you weren’t doing anything.” Lydia pressed.

“Right but I promised to spend time with them.” It wasn’t really a lie after all. They were spending time together, just with a lot more supernatural elements involved.

“Well, what are you going to be doing.”

“Probably just watching movies or something.” Stiles chewed on his lips, the food completely forgotten now. There was no way he was going to be able to keep a meal down now, not with the massive coiling snake in the pit of his belly.

“Good we will come.”

“What?” Both Jackson and Stiles asked in unison. Lydia rolled her eyes, flicking some hair over her shoulder. Oh no. There was absolutely no way that was going to happen. Panicking Stiles grasped at reasons for why this was the terrible idea it was.

“But you said the Pack was meeting.”

“Then they can meet your brothers as well.” Lydia had her mindset and when she set her mind to something it was like trying to derail a high-speed train. You were more likely to get mowed down than actually stop her.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” He admitted.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t get to talk with Sam and Dean often.”

“Lucky them.” Jackson sneering finishing off his food. Stiles's heart sunk a little lower.

“I want to spend time with my family.” He finally admitted sadly. He felt venerable, but it was the truth and he didn’t have anything much better than that. Lydia sat there, staring him down, a calculating look in her eyes. He could see she was not swayed by his admittance. The sinking pit in his belly grew. He was screwed.

The pack was going to meet his brothers. They wouldn’t be able to do the exorcism he would be stuck like this for one more day. One more day of no sleep, nightmares, delusions, and his mind tear at the seams. He didn’t know if he could handle one more day.

Not to mention what happened if the pack found about Sam and Dean being hunters. They would surely be pissed at Stiles, probably throw him out if he is even still part of the pack. They would leave him and then when Sam and Dean inevitably left Stiles would be all alone. Again.

He felt hundreds of eyes on him. The weight of their judgments pressed him down into the ground. Voices whispered and swirled around him. Words mixing and morphing into languages he could decipher whispering the devil knows what into his ears. Bile started to rise in his thought

Suddenly, just as he was about to race out of the room, Jacksons' annoying voice brought him back. “Lydia let it go. He clearly doesn’t want to come and isn’t Pack so who cares.”

Well, there it was. At least that cleared one thing up. Stiles really was alone.

* * *

Sam and Dean had been quiet since they picked Stiles up. Settled in the front seat they greeted him, asked a few mandatory questions about how school was then fell in silence. That was fine for Stiles, he didn’t want to say much anyway. The trio set in silence for thirty minutes as Dean drove them off to some remote part of the California woods. They needed privacy for the exorcism. If they weren’t his brothers, Stiles would be worried they would kill him.

Suddenly Isaac's questions started bouncing around in his head again. What if they could kill him though? Was he even really family? Can you call someone family if you saw them every few years? They were so close to each other. There was no doubt family was important to them. They would die for each other. Would they do the same for Stiles? If not, does that mean he isn’t family? With a shaky breath, he asked the questions that had been rattling in his brain all day, “How come I was never involved in the family business?”

“Trust me, kid. You wouldn’t have wanted to be.” Dean said instantly with complete confidence even though he couldn’t possibly know what Stiles wanted in life.

“What about now?” He understood that he was younger than them. It probably wouldn’t be fun to have a preteen with undiagnosed ADHD stuck in a car all the time. But maybe now… he had his medication; he knew about the supernatural and even gone toe to toe with a few.

“What do you mean?” Sam's voice was full of trepidation, they were both becoming visibly more uncomfortable.

Stiles ignored the clues that this wasn’t going to end in his favor. He was good about ignoring the elephants in the room. Chewing on his lip he decided now was the time to give voice to that new but rapidly growing desire, “What if I joined you now? I am almost 18 and I haven’t ever been outside of the state of California. Maybe I could travel around with you for a year or something.” Maybe that was all he needed, some time away from Beacon Hills. A chance to go out there, make new friends. Have a chance to meet new people without them already knowing him as the Sheriff's son with a loudmouth.

“Sorry Stiles. That probably isn’t a good idea.” Sam sad not sounding very sorry at all.

He felt hot tears start to boil up again. Not again. What was his deal? Was he so tired that every emotion now felt like the end of the world? It was ridiculous. Biting back the lump in his throat and the need to cry he asked a simple, “Why not?”

“What we do is dangerous.” Dean was blunt about it. But his eyes looked worried as they inspected Stiles through the mirror. “People get hurt… often. We are lucky we survive as often as we do”

“Well, maybe a third person could help you.” He could hear the desperation in his own breathless voice. Suddenly this little dream felt like the only thing he could ever possibly want.

“It’s better you stay here. Have a normal life.” Sam had decided for him.

“Right, normal…” What a joke. Nothing had been normal in a while. Or probably better to say that his normal was now very different than what Dean and Sam expected him to be experiencing.

Sam turned in his seat, giving Stiles a worried look, “Did something happen Stiles?”

“Just tired.” He lied then went back to silently watching the trees roll past. Apart from him wanted to know what he would find if he just got out of the car right now and simply just walked into the woods. He had already found three werewolves, two alive and one dead, so what was worse than that.

Soon, Dean pulled the impala to the side, getting off the paved road and rolling down a dirt path going deep into the woods. It was a slow and bumpy process but they soon enough arrived at their destination.

Dean threw the car into the park announcing, “We are here.” Unbuckling his belt, he turned around and gave Stiles a sympathetic look. “Stiles I am sorry about this but we are going to have to tie you up for a bit, just to be safe.”

Sam was pulling out a length of rope from a bag at his feet. “This is just rope dipped in Holy oil.” He showed it to Stiles like seeing the thing would make the situation less stressful.

Apprehensively Stiles pressed his wrists together and presented them to Sam. With as much care as possible, his brother wrapped the slightly glistening cording around his wrists. The rough fibers itched and as it tightened is felt like it was cutting into his skin ever so slightly. It wasn't terrible but he would not want to be like this for more than a few minutes. Sam was diligent, wrapping both around and between stiles hands making it practically impossible for him to slip free.

As he did this Stiles watched Dean get out of the car and open the trunk. He pulled out a duffle bag and carried it to the center of the little grove they were in. Chucking it to the ground Stiles watched him pull several bottles and terrifyingly pocket a single handgun in his waistband.

Sweat started to collect along his brow. Why would they need a gun? What could possibly happen? What if he was still tied up when something happened. Anxiouslt he started to bounce his leg, trying to focus more on Sam who was starting to give him soft reassurances. He would be okay. He was with his brothers. He would be fine. This would help. It had to.

"Alright, we are all set," Sam announce with one finally biting knot. He gave Stiles hands a single pat before turning around and exiting the car. He opened Stiles's door for him and slowly helped him out of the car, careful to balance him as he shuffled out.

Looking around Stiles saw a massive pentagram carved into the dirt, in the center was a single chair. Slowly, under Dean's watchful eyes, Sam led him towards the chair. A chill ran down Stiles's spine as he realized that Dean had his hands hovering over his handgun.

"Okay Stiles, just sit here." Sam set him down. He back out of the circle, giving a reassuring smile but Stiles could see the tension in his shoulders. "Alright, let's get started."

Sam opened up a leather journal that he had in his jacket pocket. Flicking directly to the page he needed he started to read off the text on the page.“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolical." Stiles stiffened as Sam started to speak in a foreign language. Frantically he looked above him to see if there was lightning in the sky. It was a clear day though. Checking his hands he counted ten fingers.

"Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine…quem inferi tremunt," The coil in Stiles's stomach squirmed and grew.

Trying to calm himself Stiles really listened to the sounds Sam was making. He was speaking Latin. With complete fluency, Sam was speaking rapid Latin. "Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine."As he spoke Dean opened up a bottle of liquid and started to throw it on Stiles.

Water droplets hit his face, rolling down to collect on the collar of his t-shirt. Sam started to speak louder, the beat of his words reinforced by Dean tossing water on him. Then with great inflection, almost yelling at this point, Sam finished the exorcism. "Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"


End file.
